Although he and the original Alexander the Great were separated by 2,500 years, on a subatomic, quantum level the two souls were at one. Alex could almost hear him whispering both support and instructions into his ear.
Despite the excitement of the battle, Alex had not forgotten about the lock. He understood that if the opportunity arose either to enter battle or retrieve the lock, he would have to choose the lock.
“They have marched southwards along the Syrian coast,” added Parmenio, “and made camp just to the north of the Pinarus River.”
“You bring me good news, Parmenio,” responded Alex in a controlled tone. “The narrow battlefield should negate the Persian numerical superiority and make the fight a little more even. Darius appears to have underestimated the strength of our army.”
Turning toward Parmenio, Alex continued, “Make sure the scouts keep me abreast of any further movements by the Persian forces. That will be all.”
“As you wish, King Alexander.”
Alex kept quiet and maintained his stone-faced expression while Parmenio galloped off to the front of the formation to deliver the king’s message.
In less than an hour, trumpets began to blare in the distance, signaling to everyone that the Persian army had been spotted and Parmenio returned, ready for the next course of action.
Alexander turned to the generals now riding next to him. “Fellow Macedonians, it appears we have company.”
Persian soldiers filled the landscape stretching endlessly ahead of them. Like a vast sea of purple and gold extending from the Mediterranean Sea to their left to the mountains on their right, the Persian numbers appeared to rival those of the grains of sand on the shore.
Parmenio knew the Persians were renowned for the size of their army, but he was still impressed by the showing of soldiers before them. “Is it wise to seek a directed battle when our enemy’s numbers are so far superior to ours?” he asked. “Should we not wait till sundown, after our foes are fast asleep, to attack?”
“Parmenio!” exclaimed Alex. “I will not steal my victory under the cloak of darkness. Conquest must come with honor. No, my friend, we march on. Today is the day.”
As he grew closer to the Pinarus River separating the two armies, Alex experienced an eerie feeling of deja vu. Flashing back to dreams he’d had since a child, Alex realized that he had been here before. Memories from the past? A subconscious bond with the original Alexander the Great? There may never be answers to these questions, but one thing was sure: he was, indeed, Alexander the Great.
Despite Alex’s confidence, Parmenio was still wary of a head-on attack. Never before had the Macedonians faced such a sizable foe. His apprehension was not unique. The other generals riding alongside appeared equally concerned. Even Coenus, the most energetic of the bunch, looked dumbfounded thinking of the task before them.
“Should we halt our troops?” asked Parmenio cautiously. “It appears as if some of our enemy has taken a foothold south of the Pinarus and are awaiting our arrival.”
“These men pose us no immediate threat,” declared Alex. “Let us not falter in our movement. Parmenio, take yourself and the Macedonian cavalry ahead towards the seaside of the line. There you shall defend our left flank.”
“Yes, my king,” responded Parmenio with a little extra gusto as he signaled his men to follow.
Two thousand cavalrymen quickly departed toward the sea.
The Persians to the south of the river immediately took note of their approach. Surprised by this decisive move by the Macedonians, they at once began to organize into separate, discrete battalions.
“Craterus, my friend,” Alex yelled out to his general riding a few horses away, “Parmenio will not be able to hold our left flank alone. The enemy’s numbers are too great even for such brave warriors as them.”
Craterus drew his steed closer to Alex’s so that he might hear exactly what his king had to say. A simple miscommunication now could prove disastrous even before the battle had begun.
“Go forth with your infantrymen,” Alex continued, “and make haste with your movement. Parmenio will need both you and your men’s strength to bolster the left flank’s integrity.”
“Yes, my king.”
Taking about half of the heavy infantry soldiers with him, Craterus and his men marched at full pace over to the left wing to support Parmenio.
Seeing more of the Macedonians rapidly approaching, the Persians on the south end of the river had no other option but to withdraw back across the Pinarus. Without the support of the rest of the army, they certainly did not want to face the might of the entire Macedonian army alone.
The last two of the generals rode silently next to Alex, eagerly awaiting his orders. Philotas knew Alexander was not one who appreciated being disturbed. Thus, he remained quiet while expecting the call for action.
What are they trying to do? Alex asked himself as he surveyed the large mass of Persian soldiers pursed for battle. Where do they plan to attack?
Looking at the Persian army in its entirety, Alex tried to decide where their strengths and weakness lay. To win this battle while being at such a numerical disadvantage he would need to create the perfect mismatch in order to gain the upper hand. At a distance and without any means of magnification, it was difficult to ascertain any differences between the men.
Drawing closer, Alex observed that the cavalry and infantrymen who had just crossed the river and were amassing along the seaside of the Persian line appeared well disciplined, judging by the speed and efficiency of their movement. Logically, he deduced, they must be the strength of the Persian line, and if Darius planned to attack, I bet anything it would be with these men.
Luckily, Parmenio, along with the Macedonian cavalry and heavy infantry, were there for the onslaught. But would it be enough?
“Philotas,” said Alex, “take the rest of the cavalry, including the Companions, and make your way to our right flank. Bring with you the remaining heavy infantry troops and spread yourselves out until you reach the edge of the mountains.”
“Right away, Alexander!” replied Philotas.
Philotas darted off at full speed toward the army’s right flank. The rest of the cavalry, including the Companions, Thracians, Greeks, and Thessalonians, along with the remaining infantry, readily followed in a barrage of blaring horns.
Having the bulk of the cavalry on the right would provide us with a strong offensive force, but have I left our left flank unduly exposed against such a strong adversary?
Turning to his final general, Alex nodded. “Coenus, need I say any more? I think you know what needs to be done. Shore up that front line.”
Coenus nodded his head in acknowledgement. Shouting at the top of his lungs, he yelled, “Battle positions! Battle positions!”
In response to his cries, the pikemen immediately broke off into over a hundred separate battalions, each consisting of exactly 256 soldiers. Organizing themselves into a perfect square, they marched in a 16 by 16 man formation up to the river. Connecting Parmenio’s and Craterus’ forces on the left to Philotas’ men on the right, they completed the Macedonian front line of attack.
The battle lines were set.
Chapter_29
Surrounded by body foam, Jules felt incredibly disoriented after the crash. He was not sure if he had momentarily lost consciousness after smashing through The New Reality’s golden glass dome over the courtyard. One thing he did fully comprehend at the moment was that every square inch of his body felt pain. Even the hair on his head caused him discomfort. Despite the throbbing, he felt extremely lucky to be alive after the immense gamble he had just undertaken.
The body foam then began to seemingly disintegrate around him, forming tiny little beads in the process. As the foam subsided, he noted that the nose of the stratoskimmer was completely crushed while its windshield suffered multiple cracks that produced many web-like imperfections. Despite the destruction of the stratoskimmer, its gravity dampeners and safety features sav
ed his life.
Jules slowly unstrapped his seat belt. Apart from the pain, he was appreciative to be alive and still able to move all his limbs.
“Prepare to be boarded,” a voice warned from outside the ship. “Your rights as a New World Order citizen have been revoked.”
Like I ever had any, Jules scoffed.
On the dashboard’s cracked screen, Jules saw about 10 WOGs approaching the ship. Dressed in uniform, each also wielded a large, black shield, boasting The New Reality emblem on its front.
“Have these imbeciles no respect for science?” he scoffed, “or of its magnificent potential?”
With only limited knowledge of flying the stratoskimmer, Jules at least understood the mechanics behind flight and the power of such inventions as gravity dampeners. He also realized that if gravity could be dampened, it could be momentarily accelerated.
Flipping the polarity of the gravity dampeners, Jules watched the WOGs march in a triangular formation towards the ship. The image of bowling crossed his mind as he awaited their arrival.
“I believe it is your rights as a human that have been revoked,” Jules mocked as he pushed a button on the dashboard, sending a gravity pulse towards the oncoming soldiers.
The WOGs flew across the courtyard as if being directly struck by an F5 tornado. The force of the impact was so severe that it ruptured their internal organs, killing them upon impact.
Jules slowly stood and walked over to the side of the cockpit. Remembering the weapons hidden within one of the cabinets, he grabbed the handle and attempted to open it. The force of the crash’s impact distorted the lock and made the task impossible. Though he mostly felt the urgency to escape from the ship before any further WOGs would arrive, he knew that without some form of protection, he would not survive.
Using some of his MMA skills, Jules kicked the cabinet, causing a pain to sear down his back as if a raw hot iron had just branded him. He staggered to keep his balance. Bracing himself against the stratoskimmer’s wall, he yanked the cabinet open while pulling off the handle in the process. Jules then grabbed the two electric pulse guns and a few stun grenades. Storing everything but one of his guns in the pockets of his jumpsuits, he made his way up the slanted floor to the back of the ship.
Jules walked over to the door and pulled the red emergency release lever to its side. With a loud thud, the door flew open and dropped to the ground. In the process, an emergency slide also inflated to ensure exiting the craft would prove as safe as possible.
Before exiting, Jules peeked his head out of the ship. With his weapon in hand, he dove down the chute and slid onto the ground. Now in a prone position, he again scoured the area for any unwanted guests. Not a soul was in sight.
Upon further inspection, he was glad that he had not slid too far off the chute, as he would have been met with broken chards of glass. Looking up, he could see the gaping hole in the dome above him and glass continuing to rain on the courtyard.
Jules could not help but think that the stratoskimmer looked like an anchor, now wedged in the middle of the courtyard where the Georgia Guidestones used to stand. The New World Order structure had been obliterated in the crash, sending pieces of it around the courtyard. Though he disagreed with Myra and The New Reality’s version of a New World Order, he respected what the Guidestones stood for and was disappointed they had been destroyed.
Before Jules could stand, he began to cough almost uncontrollably and expectorate bright red blood. Wiping it on his sleeve, he understood something underhanded was afoot. He was not sure if he’d been poisoned at the NewREMA facility or contracted some disease afterwards. His muscles and bones hurt too much to be injuries from the crash.
If I can access the computers, I’ll figure out what’s happening.
Jules spit out a small clot of blood and rose to his feet. He knew the layout of this building probably better than Myra Keres herself. After helping plan its creation, he hoped he would remember enough to keep him safe.
Jules hobbled over to the podium where Myra usually spoke. Knowing there was a hidden passage underneath, he ducked down and hid behind it when he arrived. He then smacked the manual override pedal on the ground, causing the podium and about four square feet of cushioned cement on which it stood to descend underground. Jules could hear a few more WOGs enter the courtyard, barking commands to one another.
Just as he was below ground, the upper half of the podium disintegrated with a loud bang. Jules laid on his back with his gun pointed upwards, awaiting another potential attack. Not waiting to reach the floor, he jumped off the stand and attempted to run down the corridor. He knew that straight ahead would lead to Myra Keres’ office while the opposite direction would take him to the central computing database of the whole New Reality empire.
With each step his right ankle began to ache more intensely every time he bore any weight on it. The further he hobbled down the hall, the more Jules felt dehydrated and parched. Though his stomach ached, he knew that he required some fluid soon if he hoped to stay alive.
Jules reached up to scratch his scalp, and in the process, he saw large clumps of hair fall to the ground as if being shaved off.
Jules then stopped against the wall for a second to catch his breath.
Something is definitely wrong!
Jules knew he could run miles even under the most inauspicious circumstances without becoming short of breath. His trouble breathing, the blood in his cough, and the rapid hair loss confirmed something serious was happening to him.
He made deep wheezing noises as he turned his head both ways down the hall, ever vigilant for any further intruders. Up ahead he could hear what sounded like a few members of a security team running towards him around the corner. Taking one of the stun grenades in his hand, he twisted the top and pushed a green button that emerged from its underbelly.
Hoping to time it properly, he threw the grenade down the hall and ricocheted it around the bend. Within precisely three seconds, he heard the weapon discharge. Unlike the sound of an explosive, this grenade created a loud sizzling noise when activated.
Mustering his strength, he jumped on the ground and rolled around the bend in the hallway. Four WOGs lay unconscious on the ground in front of him. Their shields proved ineffective against the grenade’s blast. Despite his success, he knew its effects would only last about five minutes.
Grabbing one of the guard’s assault rifles, he threw down his own gun. Before he could stand, more WOGs came running down the hall. With pinpoint accuracy, he aimed and shot the three guards in the limited space available around their shields. Unlike the electric pulse guns, these rifles were designed to kill.
Jules remembered that there was a staircase leading down to the central computer database just behind them. Listening another second to hear if any more WOGs were on their way, he felt his legs give out on him and he dropped to his knees. His joints cracked and muscles strained. Every ounce of his body wanted to lie on the ground and not move. Using the wall as an aid, he leveraged himself to an upright position and limped down the hall.
Jules grabbed a stun grenade in his left hand and set it to explode on impact. With the rifle in his right hand, he slowly made his way down the hall as distant voices quickly approached his position from behind.
Time seemed to slow down. Though Jules had only moved about 20 feet, he felt as if a half hour elapsed. His strength was diminishing rapidly while his mind remained sharp.
At the stairwell, he pushed open the door and threw his grenade over the banister to the level below. As these stairs were solely utilized in times of emergency, their doors were designed to open and close without dematerializing.
The grenade sizzled upon impact.
Gingerly taking the stairs down to the lower level, Jules found two men and a woman wearing business attire twitching at the bottom.
Collateral damage.
Faint red lights continued to flash above him, but the corridor outside the stairwell appeared empty. At the en
d of it, he could already visualize the door leading into the central computing database. Jules then painfully limped down the hall, supporting himself with his hand against the wall. Occasionally he would cough, bringing up blood.
Finally at the door, Jules stood poised with his gun pointed straight towards it, but the door failed to open upon his arrival. He waited a few more seconds and even pushed it, hoping it would dematerialize in the process.
It must be locked.
Jules then opened the control box to the door’s side and pulled the manual disengage. The door still failed to open, leaving him exposed. Now leaning his back against it, he heard the scurry of marching boots echoing down the hall from him in both directions.
Trapped!
Chapter_30
Before Myra had fully exited the lab, she was whisked away by six of the largest WOGs she had ever seen. Dressed in full body armor, they surrounded her. One on each side took her by the arms while another two in the front and back created a hulking human shield.
“Stay calm and follow us,” one of them bellowed.
Myra ducked as she if she were currently under sniper fire while the WOGs escorted her down the hall. Though boasting many times that she survived sniper fire during certain New Reality business trips to unfriendly countries, she, in fact, had never encountered any true danger in her life. She believed such manufactured stories would provide her with an extra air of bravado and daring to the public, solidifying her image as a leader.
Pushing through a crowd of New Reality employees that began to scramble out of a fully packed auditorium, the President’s guards pummeled, shoved, and even trampled a few people as they pressed on down the hall.
One of the guards slammed open a door leading to a stairwell. It broke off its hinges upon impact and fell onto the floor. Taking her by the arms, two of the guards lifted her over the obstruction while they raced up the steps.
“Wait,” she ordered, while futilely attempting to place at least one foot on the ground, “you’re heading the wrong direction. I want to get out of this place, not further into it.”
The Hidden Reality (Alex Pella, #2) Page 22
